I drop my keys in the bowl. Wallet, too. Sunglasses go on the table, next to the bowl. I turn on the lamp. Open the mail. Junk. The cat wanders by. And then I pause. Here. In the moment between being out there, in the world, and being back in here, in my world. The shift from noise to quiet. From pace to stillness. From crazies to cat.
And then I put on my Kyrgies.
Photo by Lanny Fuller
My house shoes have become a ritual.
A part of the “coming home” process, sure. But more than that, part of the “enjoying home” process.
Kyrgies are simple. Felted wool. Handmade by artisans in Kyrgyzstan. They look like they could have been around for centuries, because they have. There’s nothing loud about them. Just quiet, practical design that makes sense the second you slip them on.
The wool softens as it warms, wrapping around your foot in a way that feels like an exhale. They breathe, too. Obviously, we’re heading into peak slipper season, but I wear these in the AC, too. Year round.
Photo by Lanny Fuller
I want comfort, but not sloppy.
Unlike other slippers I’ve tried, these hold their shape without feeling stiff. They’re forgiving, grounded, comfy, but not sloppy. The kind of thing you don’t mind answering the door in. The kind of thing that makes “being home” feel a little more intentional.
And that’s what I’ve come to love most about them. The best functional benefit of the Kyrgie house shoe is actually an emotional one. A pair of Kyrgies turns “coming back to the apartment” into “stepping back inside your home.”
